Sword Brothers (38 page)

"You've earned your freedom," Gunnar said. "If you are caught again, I will not be so generous."

"Thank you, Lord!" The man bowed and started to back away. The prisoner was already fleeing deeper into the woods when Gunnar recalled he meant to cut off the man's sword hand. He shook his head, then spit over the edge.

"So ends Mord Guntherson's worthless life," he said, then looked north and wished his father's revenge tasted better than this bitter draught.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Gunther stiffened at Ulfrik's voice and his confused expression grew resolute. Ulfrik stepped from behind the table, his white knuckle grip tight on his sword hilt. The scent of dust hanging in the air filled his nose as he inhaled deeply then sighed.

"You are surprised to find yourself in a room with me?" Ulfrik stopped in the center of the floor, the wood boards creaking beneath his weight. "Yet you had to know this day would come."

Gunther's frown faded to a smile, and for a moment Ulfrik glimpsed his old friend beneath the mask of this bitter old man. "I had often worried for it, imagining a dozen ways this might happen. You impress me still. I'd have not guessed you'd be so bold."

Ulfrik smiled. "Then you do not know me as well as you thought."

"May I sit?" Gunther asked. "My old legs pain me and I expect you have questions. I will think clearer if I am seated."

Already moving toward a bench, Ulfrik blocked Gunther. "You will stand."

Gunther smelled of age and his cloudy white eye searched Ulfrik's face. If he could see anything through it, Ulfrik believed it could only be shadows. Gunther nodded his bald head and turned back. "I see. So, Vilhjalmer, what is your part in this? I understand Ulfrik's reasons, but not yours. You led me to this trap, but why?"

"Grandfather," Vilhjalmer spit the word like a curse. "You are not nearly as wise as you claim to be. Do you think I have not felt your hand upon me long enough? I know how you connive with my mother to keep me under control. You and your son have had hooks into me long enough. To control me is to control the future of Normandy, is it not? No one has abused my father's trust as much as you, yet no one is more deceived by your lies than him. You are a blight to my father's rule and a blot on my future. You and your son are no better than scheming rats. No one controls me. Not my father, my mother, and certainly neither you nor your son. I am my own man, and I will rid myself of those that believe otherwise."

The echoes of Vilhjalmer's impassioned speech bounced around the room. Gunther bent his mouth appreciatively. "And here I thought as long as you were buried in women and drink you would have no eyes to see the greater world. Good job, boy."

"But let us not forget, this day is mine," Ulfrik said. He turned Gunther's face toward him with the flat of his sword. "And you have but one chance to earn yourself a swift death."

Gunther gently pushed Ulfrik's blade aside, his smile condescending. "Death is death. I am not afraid of what you will do to me."

"Then what about your son?" Ulfrik asked, and Gunther paused. "I turned him over to Gunnar, and he will make your boy suffer. He'll cut off his sword hand, at the very least. It's a problem he has had since losing his own. Seems to think no one else should have two hands."

"Empty threats," Gunther said. "I know who you've allied with, and know those southern jarls for the cowards they are. You have nothing to challenge us with."

"Ull the Strong, Ragnar Hard-Striker, Hafgrim Herjolfsson. Do these names sound familiar? They have journeyed south to fight Mord and his Frankish cavalry. Einar and all my men have struck for the Seine crossing at Rouen. Hrolf has already gone to meet them. Your son is finished. You are finished. So save me the bold act. Answer my questions, and I will respect our old friendship. I'll make death quick. We were friends once, weren't we?"

Gunther nodded, his head lowered. "We were, until you placed yourself above everyone else. You climbed into Hrolf's bed, and tried to become his top man. You were nothing when I found you. You were a slave, then the jarl of a poor island lost in the sea at the top of the world. You were no better than a farmer, but I lifted you up. I put you before Hrolf. I fed you from my hand. And then you bit it."

"Whatever bite you imagined, was it worth all your honor to avenge it? Had it been a true offense, there would not be a man in the world to deny you revenge. You could have challenged me to a duel, to the death even. But your motivations were far more base." Ulfrik touched the edge of his sword to Gunther's neck to prevent him from turning aside. "You were jealous and you saw that your son climbed no higher in Hrolf's esteem. You moved in shadows, working on Konal's fears and his worries, twisting him until he bent to your traitorous plans to send me to Throst."

Gunther closed his eye and Ulfrik lowered his sword. He had held that suspicion in his heart for the entire summer. Aren had known much longer than he, and now he turned to his son who watched on with a drawn sword. His face was unreadable, but his cheeks had flushed red. He was as eager for revenge as anyone.

"Do you know how I suffered? Do you know the madness I endured for years after?" Ulfrik felt his anger rising, and he checked it. "But I came back, and even with me gone for so long you and your son still achieved nothing. Was I such a threat that even now you conspired to kill me? What would make this time any better than the last? Mord is a fool. The spark that lit your fires never ignited his. He is as colorless and cold as ash. You can give him my lands and put him in front of Hrolf, and all he will do is prove himself worthless."

"Your speech tires me," Gunther said. "If you mean to kill me, do it before you are discovered. When Hrolf learns of what you've done, he will avenge me."

"You dare smirk at me, you shameless bastard? You think I will allow Hrolf the chance to raise a hand to me? Hakon and Einar are right now ensuring he will not so much as spit at me when we next meet. I have it in mind to present your head to him."

"Then do it," Gunther said, his face warping into a mask of hate. "You overblown, pig-fucking farmer! You and your slave-bitch wife strutting around in your great mead halls, covered in gold and jewels. How much of that did you share with me? The very man who plucked you out of the slop! Where did all those riches come from? You would not have possessed them without me."

Despite his blindness his single eye bore into Ulfrik's and his age-blackened teeth were gritted in hate. Ulfrik dropped his voice to a low threat. "You got what you deserved of me. The rest of my wealth was my own business. So it was greed, after all?"

"Greed? You should be one to speak of greed. It rules your heart. You forget your friends and don't know your place. I regret the day I called you to Frankia. I should have left you and that whore to wallow on your rock in the sea."

Ulfrik narrowed his eyes. "She died from a poisoned blade meant for me. You are a shameless, gutless, old man, and it will be my pleasure to kill you."

Gunther spit in his face, the warm, thick spittle spraying his eyes. "You'll be hanged and I will laugh at you from Valhalla as you rot in the fog of Nifelheim."

"There's no place for you in Odin's hall." Ulfrik wiped the spit from his face. "Traitors are not heroes."

His sword plunged into Gunther's soft gut. He drove it to the hilt, snarling with the effort. Gunther's eye went wide and his mouth opened. He clawed Ulfrik's face with a weak, shaking hand, but it fell away as he sank to his knees.

Blood flowed onto the floorboards from Gunther's punctured stomach. Ulfrik followed him to the floor, then put his boot against Gunther's shoulder and pulled his blade free. A gout of blood sprang up from the wound. Ulfrik knelt beside him, setting aside his sword and drawing his dagger.

"Runa died choking on the air itself," he whispered into Gunther's ear. "I know of no way to make you suffer as she did. This is the best I can do."

He placed the dagger to the rough, loose flesh of Gunther's neck, holding his head back to expose it. Ulfrik began to saw, knowing it would hurt more than a clean cut. Gunther struggled and screamed, but Ulfrik worked with professional calm. Blood gurgled up in Gunther's mouth, turning his screams to gargling panic. Hot blood splashed onto Ulfrik's face and rolled over his hand. Tears stung his eyes. When Gunther's throat was laid open and filled with blood, Ulfrik stood again.

The old man clawed at the floor, twisting in agony that quickly subsided into twitching, and then stillness. He had no weapon at hand to grasp. The last of his blood bubbled in his throat, and he lay still in an ever-widening pool of dark blood.

"May worms eat your flesh until Ragnarok." Ulfrik dropped his knife and picked up his sword. Aren, Finn, and Vilhjalmer joined him over Gunther's corpse.

"Revenge is done," Aren said. "My only regret is he did not suffer longer."

"He suffered with his shame," Ulfrik said. "Longer than we know. Maybe I am wrong, but I don't believe he was always such a monster. Somewhere he lost sight of honor and gave in to his jealousy. The warrior that he had once been must still have lived in his heart and probably tormented him all these years. I do not excuse him, nor pity him. But he was once a friend and I owed him much. Today is a bitter day."

"Well, I feel better for it," Vilhjalmer said. "Are you really going to give his head to my father?"

Ulfrik looked up at Vilhjalmer, then touched his bloody sword point to the young man's throat. "I will give him something else instead."

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

"I never thought to see it from this side," Hakon said.

"Nor I," Einar agreed. "A terrible and mighty sight."

Both men stood at the front rank of their gathered hirdmen and faced north. They had secured high ground, knowing they would have to use every advantage they could muster. The hill swept down to a carpet of yellow grass that waved in the cool afternoon breeze. Clouds floated in clumps through a blue sky and cast spotty shadow over the land. Hrolf's massive army stood half inside shadow.

Line upon line of mail-clad hirdmen ranked up at the foot of the hill. There were easily two of them to every of Hakon and Einar's men, their weapons glinting in the sunlight. They stood in perfect squares and did not make any more noise than the clinking of their armor or knocking of shields. Hakon admired their discipline, which was reflected in his own men. After all, his father had instilled that thinking into both bodies of warriors and it gave them advantage in every battle they fought.

"I've been looking for a sign from the gods all morning," Einar said. "But I've seen no omens."

"No signs are better than bad omens," Hakon said. "I'm certain the gods will choose us over Hrolf. He has abandoned them for the Christians. How will they feel about that?"

Einar chuckled and they continued to wait for signals from Hrolf's lines of either an attack or parley. Hakon had wanted to force Hrolf to a meeting, which was customary before most battles of this sort. The Franks did not always parley, even when it would have been in their interest. So perhaps Hrolf was adopting more of Frankish customs than was good. Hakon certainly felt he was. His magnificent, new standard of red with two golden lions lifted in the wind, and even at this distance Hrolf stood out both in height and grandeur. His armor gleamed brighter than anyone around him.

"If we stand here all morning nothing will be accomplished," Hakon said. He glanced toward the horizon where treetops faded out to white, yet the highest towers of Rouen stood as a blue line in the distance. "I hope Father is all right."

He worried more for Elke than his father. He had not wanted her to take this risk, but with Gunnar sending his son, how could he protest? Besides, Elke wanted to go, and that worried him more than if she had begged to stay.

"Your father will handle himself," Einar said, breaking into his thoughts. "We have our duty today, and how we carry it out will either save us all, or get everyone killed. So forget him for now."

Hakon lowered his head, chastened. "Of course you are right. But Hrolf is too proud to come to us first; let us go down and parley with him. I cannot stand this wait any longer."

"Well, it was not my choice to wait," Einar said, a small smile lifting his lips. "You wanted to make the Count of Rouen come to you."

"Then let this not be our omen, for it has failed." Hakon turned to his men and gathered five from his front rank. Einar did the same, and his son-in-law picked guards from his own hirdmen. He was a short man, broad-shouldered with hair so pale as to be white. Men called him Hauk Pale-Hair, but Einar called him Hauk the White. He had mild success as a war leader, but his marriage to Einar's eldest daughter had raised his status. Hakon was surprised that he would risk it all to follow them in this gambit.

Once they had assembled, Hakon ordered his father's banner pulled up and carried with them to the parley. "Let Hrolf not forget who he is truly bargaining with when he speaks to me."

They stopped halfway to Hrolf's line. For a long while it did not stir, but then Hrolf broke off an honor guard of equal size. They strode across the grass to meet with Hakon, who waited with arms folded. His mouth had gone dry and his stomach burned. Hrolf was like a giant among dwarfs and the royal life had agreed with him. His gleaming mail was covered by a newly dyed red cloak, and his clothes were all brilliant blue. Gold and silver sparkled about his limbs and neck, and his heavy hands were crusted with jeweled rings. A frowning face sat beneath a helmet rimmed with a crown, and the deep lines of his cheeks collected shadow.

"Hail, Jarl Hrolf. I am Hakon Ulfrikson. You know my companions well, I think."

Hrolf looked up at the green standard showing black elk antlers, his frown deepening. He did not glance at Hakon, but instead stared at Einar and then Hauk. He shook his head. "You ally yourselves with outlaws and betray me? Then you insult me by sending the outlaw's whelp to me instead."